


Agent Carter and the Undiscovered Country

by onethingconstant



Series: Agent Carter Forever [6]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: BAMF Peggy Carter, But It won't stay dark, Dark Ending, Endgame? What Endgame?, Espionage, Everyone Needs A Hug, F/M, Family History, Grief/Mourning, I have no idea, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Okoye Needs a Hug, Or she starts to, Peggy Carter Needs a Hug, Peggy fixes Infinity War, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Shuri needs a hug, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Three Of These People Get Hugs, Well Natasha Gets A Russian Hug, apparently this got deleted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22238035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onethingconstant/pseuds/onethingconstant
Summary: [Reposted now that I have my AO3 access back and hey, where did this bit go?]In the aftermath of the Snap, an intruder crosses Wakanda's border and makes the new queen a proposition.Or, Peggy Carter comes home on a new continent.
Relationships: Peggy Carter & Natasha Romanov, Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Series: Agent Carter Forever [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/459388
Comments: 23
Kudos: 72





	1. The British Are Coming

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo I lost access to my AO3 for a while (long story) and when I got back on this story was missing. Sorry about that. It's back now! I swear I didn't delete it!
> 
> Also, I am officially Back On My Bullshit and you'll see new chapters of Agent Carter and the River of Truth within the next couple of weeks as I finish that fic up and plunge into THE BIG ONE.

It was raining in Wakanda. 

It was raining even by Wakandan standards. 

The average annual rainfall in Wakanda was somewhere around 1,800 millimeters. This storm promised to put the year well above average. It had been raining for two days, great swooping sheets interrupted by lighter whispering showers. Water dripped from every leaf and eyelash. The rivers growled their complaints. In the forest dens, the sacred panthers curled around empty bellies to await more favorable hunting conditions. 

_The sky is weeping with us,_ thought Shuri as she gazed out the window at the streaming statue of Bast. 

“My Queen?”

Shuri turned and arched an eyebrow at Okoye. “Really?” she asked wearily.

Okoye stiffened as she realized what she'd said, but planted her feet and doubled down anyway. “It is who you are,” she said. 

“I have not yet completed the challenge,” Shuri reminded her.

“You will.” 

“What if I don't _want_ to?” she snarled. 

Okoye's face softened by a fraction too small to be noticed by anyone who had not grown up in her shadow. 

“It is what Wakanda needs of you,” she said, “and I know you'll rise to the occasion.” 

Shuri turned back to the window. “What do you want?”

“The Border Tribe has taken a prisoner. An intruder, attempting to enter Wakanda under the cover of the storm.” 

Shuri snorted. “Then the Border Tribe has caught an idiot. Why are you bothering me with this?”

“She carries your grandmother's pendant.” 

Shuri frowned at the rain. “The one she lost?”

“She did not lose it.” 

Shuri shot a narrow look back at Okoye. “What does this intruder want?”

“She asked to speak to the King.”

*

One third of the seats in the great council were empty.

Properly, it should have been half. Half the _members_ of the council were gone, vanished in a snap of Thanos's fingers. In the week since, however, a few had been replaced—by widows and widowers, in some cases, by lower-ranking clan elders in others, and in one or two cases by overly ambitious younger survivors whom Shuri had already stopped listening to. There were murmurs that those who still lived had been spared for a greater purpose, and those who believed such fables were invariably not worth hearing. Shuri was a scientist; she understood the siren song of false patterns in random data, and she knew better than to let it invade her ears. 

And if ever she _were_ to be so tempted, all she would have to do would be to look at the self-proclaimed chosen one and wonder: _Why would Bast choose to spare you, and not T'Challa?_

Shuri strode into the council chamber, dressed in funereal black and draped with a scarf in the sunset colors of the royal family. Best to remind everyone whom they were dealing with. She entered to bowed heads and crossed arms, and she returned the gestures solemnly as she walked to her chair and seated herself. First among equals. 

The business of the day was brief and dull as long as she didn't think about it: arrangements for the memorial ceremony were well underway, and the lists of the dead and vanished were still being updated as reports came in from outlying regions, but there was nothing of note. The rain hissing against the windows was of greater consequence than anything anybody had to say. Twenty minutes, and she knew there was no use in delaying. 

She nodded to Okoye, and the Dora slammed the butt of her spear into the floor. 

The doors swung open. 

In the doorway stood two Dora, their spears at the ready and their eyes locked on their prisoner. Between them stood a white woman, her arms bound behind her back, her brown hair still damp from the storm. Her eyes were dark and clear, her lips stained with the remnants of crimson lipstick. She wore mud-spattered jeans, scuffed brown boots, and a dark blue leather jacket over a black T-shirt. There was a gleam of silver at her sternum: a delicate necklace, its pendant in the shape of a star. 

“That is not my grandmother's,” Shuri said, nodding at the jewelry. 

The white woman's eyes widened, just slightly. 

“She was not wearing the late queen's pendant,” said Ayo, who was standing on the woman's left. “She had it hidden.” She glanced at her partner, Aneka, and then stepped forward, holding out her fist and opening it as she approached the throne. 

“Hidden,” the white woman said dryly as the vibranium chain and cat's-head pendant fell to dangle from Ayo's fingers. “It was in a _pocket_. That's not hidden, that's keeping it out of the wet.” Her accent was sharp and unmistakably British. 

Shuri frowned and accepted the piece from Ayo. It was beautiful workmanship, as all Wakandan jewelry was, but there was something particularly delicate in the lines of the panther's head, the curve of its slightly bared teeth. 

“Who here can tell me of this object?” Shuri asked, holding the necklace aloft.

The white woman opened her mouth.

“Not you,” Shuri said sharply.

The white woman closed her mouth. 

On the fringes of the circle, an old woman creaked to her feet with the aid of a heavy stick, the white scarf over her hair swaying with her unsteady movement. 

“Mbali?” Shuri said politely. 

“My queen,” Mbali began, and Shuri had to suppress a flinch at the unexpected title. “Many years ago, I was a handmaiden to your grandmother when she left the Dora to marry King Azzuri.” 

Shuri nodded. While kings were not required to take wives from among the Dora Milaje, it was more common than not. 

“May I see the pendant?”

Shuri held it out. 

Mbali hobbled over, leaning on her stick, and cupped the dangling pendant in her gnarled fingers. She squinted at it. 

“Yes,” she said. “This is the same one I delivered to her, at his request. I would know your grandfather's workmanship anywhere.” 

A murmur rippled around the council. 

“It was her favorite,” Mbali added. “She never took it off, until she lost it.” 

“I have been told,” Shuri said carefully, “that she did not lose it.” 

The white woman opened her mouth again.

Okoye slammed her spear-butt down.

The white woman closed her mouth.

Mbali shook her head. “She would not tell me what became of it. I only know that it was gone when she returned from Europe. I thought it had been stolen from her, and I did not press.” She smiled, her face a galaxy of wrinkles. “It was no fault of hers if it _was_ stolen, the condition she was in.” 

Okoye cleared her throat.

“What condition was that?” Shuri asked. 

“Have you never been told the story, child?”

Shuri swallowed her irritation. “My father did not often talk about his mother.” 

Mbali bobbed her head. “Well, I do not know the whole story—”

“ _I_ do.” 

Shuri lifted her eyes to the white woman, who was staring coolly back at her, her gaze measuring. 

“You are not one of us,” she reminded her prisoner.

“But I was there,” the woman countered. 

“You were not!” Mbali snapped. “No one who was there is alive today! Do not waste our time with your lies!”

“Do you want to hear the story or not?” the woman replied coolly.

Shuri sat back and tilted her head as if to say, _Go on then, and I'll have you killed if I don't like what I hear._ A little _humph_ of approval from Okoye told her she'd at least gotten that part right. 

The woman nodded to her and took a deep breath.

“In 1942,” she began, “Queen Nanali was abducted from her rooms at a chalet outside of St. Moritz, Switzerland. Her abductors were able to take her, despite her training, because there were ten of them—and because she was eight months pregnant with her first child.” 

“She should not have been skiiing,” Mbali grumbled. “Headstrong.” 

“You say you were there,” Shuri pointed out, ignoring the older woman for the moment. “As Mbali said, you're not old enough for that.” 

“I'm considerably older than I look,” the white woman said. “It's a different, longer story. In any case, the queen's abductors were members of Hydra, with which I'm sure you're familiar. They were hoping to trade her safe return for a large supply of weapons-grade vibranium.” She lifted her chin. “I was dispatched to rescue her.” 

“And what was your interest in all this?” 

The silver star gleamed as the woman gathered herself. “I was, at the time, a covert agent tasked with disrupting Hydra operations.” She tilted her head. “I suppose I still am, in a manner of speaking.” 

Shuri looped her fingers in a _go on_ motion.

“I tracked the party to the Austrian border,” the white woman went on. “I managed to kill or disable the Hydra personnel, and I was preparing to contact my superiors when the queen went into labor.” She grimaced. “It wasn't my finest hour, but after a lot of blood and screaming, we managed to safely deliver the child. A boy. She named him T'Chaka. I'm told it means something to do with snow.” 

Mbali's head whipped around. “ _You_ were the midwife?” she demanded. “You delivered our king?”

“I wouldn't go that far,” the white woman said dryly. “Mostly I just held Nanali's hand and pulled when the time came. And cleaned up the blood afterward, which is far more my area of expertise.” She lifted her gaze to the pendant. “Nanali gave that to me and told me to return it to Wakanda if ever I needed help.” She rolled her eyes. “She was laughing a bit when she said it.” 

“And now you come here for help?” Shuri asked.

“To ask it, and to offer it,” the woman replied. She glanced around the chamber. “But the offer is a private one. It's not a matter for an audience.” 

Shuri narrowed her eyes. “I am the leader of Wakanda,” she told the white woman. “What I say to you, I will say in front of the council.” 

“But not what _I_ say to _you_ ,” the woman countered. “Including the matter of how I came to be here, looking the way I do. And,” she added, more loudly, “how you can save your country from its _next_ disaster.”

There was a soft sound beside Shuri, and then Okoye was there, standing even with her. “What is your name?” she demanded.

The woman smiled slightly. “Margaret Carter,” she said. “But you may call me Peggy.”


	2. Your Work Requires Support

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuri gets an offer. Natasha gets a hug. Steve gets a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn't remember the second chapter title. Didn't write it down. Went with a semi-random quote from _Agent Carter_. 
> 
> *frantic jazz hands*

“Do you mind?” Peggy asked after she was shut up with Queen Shuri and General Okoye in what looked like a small office near the council chamber. She shrugged her shoulders, indicating the hands still bound behind her back. 

“Yes,” General Okoye said sourly. 

“You said you came to offer help,” the queen interrupted. “Why would we need your help?”

Peggy took a deep breath and studied the younger woman for a heartbeat. And she was _young_ , Peggy realized. Sixteen if she was a day, and from the wide-eyed wariness with which she was looking at Peggy, she had lived a relatively sheltered life. 

There were rumors about Wakanda's mysterious genius, the way their rapidly evolving technology bore the fingerprints of a single brilliant innovator above all others. Wakanda clearly had a prodigy, and Peggy had heard more than a few spy-bar discussions trying to profile the mystery inventor in the time since Wakanda had revealed itself to the world. _Unusually creative_ was a phrase thrown around, along with _oddly playful_. Rumor in the espionage world had it that Wakanda's greatest treasure was a young Wakandan. 

Typically, no one had suggested it might be a young _woman_. Peggy hadn't encountered that particular fact until she'd gotten Everett Ross blind drunk one night in Chiangmai. Oddly, he'd spent half the conversation mumbling about hoverbikes.

And now she was here. Talking to a sixteen-year-old girl with the power to (probably) obliterate suns if she put her mind to it. She'd thought it would be like talking to Howard, or a young Anthony, but she was clearly wrong. 

For one thing, Queen Shuri was _grieving_. 

“First,” Peggy began, “please allow me to express my condolences for your loss. I never met your brother, but I read his plans for the Foundation. It takes a good man to design something like that.” 

Shuri nodded once, and her mouth twitched downward. 

“You are correct,” she said. “It was exactly the kind of thing he would have come up with.” 

Peggy nodded back. Right. On to the main point. 

“As I'm sure you've noticed,” she began, “the world outside Wakanda is a bit...” she pursed her lips, “on fire at the moment.” 

“We have noticed,” Okoye drawled. 

“Wakanda is doing all it can,” Shuri said grimly. “But it takes more than vibranium to quell a global panic. Half the world's population has disappeared. There is bound to be unrest.” 

“That's an understatement,” Peggy replied. “But I'm concerned less with the immediate chaos and more with long-term effects. Practically everyone alive on earth today has lost someone important to them. A substantial number of those people will be looking for someone to blame.” 

“It is unfortunate that Thanos has disappeared, yes,” Shuri said. 

Okoye winced. Peggy caught it, even as she made a mental note to find out what a _Thanos_ was. 

“I think the General takes my meaning more closely than you do, my Queen,” she said smoothly. “General, would you care to explain, as an authoritative source?” 

Shuri turned expectantly to her, raising her eyebrows in challenge. 

Okoye scowled. “Most countries with working computer systems are creating databases of disappeared people. It is slow going, as half the workers who might otherwise be conducting a census are themselves missing, but those reports _are_ being compiled. And it is not only the _names_ of the missing they will be collecting. All potentially relevant information will be gathered. That includes last known locations and times of disappearance. Those who disappeared in front of security cameras, for example, can have their disappearance recorded down to the second. That is more than enough information to construct a timeline.” 

“And _that_ is the problem,” Peggy added. “Your Majesty, have you ever tracked an earthquake back to its source?”

“Our scientists have,” Shuri said. “It's trivial for us. You just correlate the reports of seismographs around the area until you find—”

“The earliest reports, yes.” Peggy nodded. “And then you triangulate the three earliest to find the origin point.” She looked at Okoye. “Do you want to tell her?”

Okokye's breath made noise between her teeth. “The disappearances were not simultaneous, my Queen. The effect rippled outward, first affecting those closest to the origin point and then those farther away. Which means those disappearances can be tracked back to their epicenter.” 

“Wakanda,” Peggy said. 

Okoye nodded. “They will soon know the vanishings began here, if they do not know already. And they will believe we had a hand in it.” 

“That's absurd,” Shuri said. “Wakanda has done nothing but promote peace and progress.” 

Peggy grimaced. “Unfortunately, you're also a hermit nation with technology so advanced it's practically magic. _And_ you're a bit full of...” She hesitated, looked sideways to Okoye.

“Black people,” the General finished for her in a flat voice. “N'Jadaka was not wrong about _everything_.” 

Shuri snorted. “Then we will tell them what happened. Like T'Challa did.”

This time Okoye and Peggy winced in unison.

“What is it _now?_ ” Shuri demanded. 

“You tell her, colonizer,” Okoye muttered.

“Oi!” Peggy shot back, but it wasn't like it didn't need saying. She turned back to Queen Shuri. “Right. The problem with that plan is, you're _still_ a hermit kingdom full of black people with magical technology. If you tell them a giant purple space alien came down from the sky, put on a magic glove covered in even more magic gems, and snapped his fingers to cause half a genocide … well, they might think you're lying.” 

“Or insane,” Okoye added darkly.

“Or that,” Peggy agreed. 

Shuri made an irritated noise in her throat. “Then what do _you_ suggest, Margaret Carter?” she snapped. “You promised to save Wakanda from its next disaster. How do you propose to save Wakanda from the wrath of the rest of the world?” 

Peggy took a deep breath.

Then she turned to Okoye. “Are you _sure_ you can't untie me?”

“Get on with it,” the General growled. 

Peggy sighed. “General Okoye is right about the timeline,” she told Shuri. “That's how I knew to come here. I've seen a few global catastrophes in my day, and I'll bet anything that Steve Rogers and his Avengers were here when Thanos touched down. Is that about right?”

Shuri nodded. 

Peggy swallowed hard, then plunged ahead. “Which of them survived?”

Shuri looked at Okoye, who said, “Captain Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, James Rhodes, Bruce Banner, and Thor. And a talking raccoon.” 

Peggy closed her eyes for a moment and let herself breathe. _Steve's alive. Thank God._ She made a note to ask about the raccoon later. She shook her head to clear it and opened her eyes again.

“Right,” she said. “Steve—that is, Captain Rogers—is your best bet here. He's probably the most trusted man on the planet right now. You make him your spokesman. If the world will believe anyone, it'll believe him.” 

“He's an international fugitive!” Okoye protested. 

“Yes, for opposing a law he thought was unjust!” Peggy shot back. “If he's willing to die for his principles, he's got at least _some_ credibility in the eyes of the press.” 

Okoye growled.

Shuri held up a hand. The General fell silent.

“If you think Captain Rogers can head off a war,” the Queen said calmly, “you had better persuade him yourself.” She signaled to Okoye.

“This is a terrible idea,” Okoye warned. 

“We owe her a debt,” Shuri replied. “This is how we will repay it. If it benefits Wakanda, so much the better.” She locked eyes with Peggy. “If you cannot persuade Captain Rogers to accept your advice, you will face Wakandan justice for your crime.” 

Peggy nodded and tried to look resolute. “You have my word,” she said. 

_My word that I'll persuade Steve to do something. Bloody wonderful. Because that's worked so well for others in the past._

“General,” said Shuri. “Untie her. And have Ayo take Miss Carter to Captain Rogers' chambers.”

***

Peggy was striding down a palace corridor, trying not to trot in order to keep pace with the long-legged Ayo, when Natasha Romanoff happened.

Specifically, Romanoff melted out of the woodwork—or thin air; Black Widows moved in mysterious ways—and fell into step beside Peggy before the dark-haired woman had a chance to swear. She did so anyway.

Ayo spun around, spear-first, as the party scrambled to a stop.

Natasha regarded the spear-point like an interesting beetle. Slowly, almost sarcastically, she lifted her hands to shoulder level. Her hair was blonde, for some reason, cut to her jawline. 

“I need a word,” Natasha said coolly. 

“Where on earth have you been?” Ayo demanded, jabbing the spear at Natasha's face.

“Belarus,” Natasha said like it was obvious.

“What's in Belarus?” Peggy asked. 

“Right now? A nuclear power plant that's _not_ melting down. Anymore.” Natasha shrugged. “Turns out it's hard to run one of the old Soviet models when half your staff disappears.” 

“I didn't realize nuclear engineering was a specialty of yours,” Peggy remarked. 

“It's not. I set up a secure line to Bruce Banner's communications center and let _him_ handle it. Most plants figured it out on their own, but,” she shrugged, “Belarus.” 

“Are you telling me Bruce Banner is single-handedly … what, _tech-supporting_ the global nuclear grid?” Peggy asked. 

“Well, his virus already disabled the arsenals. Power plants were next on the list. After they're stabilized, the World Health Organization's got next dibs.” Her mouth quirked. “Nothing polishes up a nuclear biophysicist's resumé like half the competitition getting vaporized.” 

Ayo _growled_. 

“A moment?” Peggy asked her sweetly, and then pulled Natasha aside without waiting for an answer. 

“Don't mind Ayo,” Natasha drawled. “I'm pretty sure she just misses her girlfriend—”

Peggy slapped her.

The reaction was instantaneous. Natasha's eyes widened, and she pulled in a sharp breath through her nose as a half-handprint bloomed like an early rose on her left cheek. For a moment, Peggy was certain she was about to get her arse handed to her. Probably in small pieces. 

Then Natasha shook herself, like a dog shedding water, and looked at Peggy, clear-eyed for the first time.

“Thank you,” she said.

Peggy nodded. Trust another agent to take a gesture as it was intended. And trust a Widow to respond first and foremost to violence. 

“You wanted a word?” she prompted. 

Natasha took another breath, still visibly steadying herself. Peggy took it as the gift it was. 

“You don't want to see him right now,” Natasha said without further preamble. “He's … in a state.” 

“Define _state_ ,” Peggy replied.

“Let's just say there's a reason Bruce has had to step up. Some of us have more experience with the world falling down around our ears.” 

Peggy cocked an eyebrow. “Do you want to reconsider that statement, Miss All-The-Secrets-Are-Trending?” 

“I really don't. My words were well-considered. Barnes is gone.”

Now it was Peggy's turn to take a sharp breath. Then she surged forward and threw her arms around Natasha. 

The Black Widow froze for a heartbeat, then sagged a little into the hug. “Dammit, how did you _know?_ ” she hissed in Peggy's ear. 

“The Soldier you told me about on the helicarrier,” Peggy murmured back. “I'd suspected who the Winter Soldier was for years, but I wasn't certain until he said your name. He thought they'd killed you, too.” 

Natasha made a small, soft noise, like a kitten lost in a dark room.

Peggy's first impulse was to say _It'll be all right_ , but that would be a lie, she realized. She'd learned that after she lost Michael, and again after she lost Steve, the first time. Nothing would be all right again. It would be different—it might even be good, in a crosswise way, as life with Daniel had been good—but _all right_ , like _normal_ and _okay_ and all the other things human hearts foolishly wanted at times, was gone forever. 

“It hurts less, after a while,” she whispered into Natasha's hair. That, she just might believe. 

Natasha clung to her just a bit longer than was polite before stepping back. Peggy pretended not to notice. 

“He hasn't spoken since it happened,” Natasha said, her voice only a little rough. “He just locked himself in his chambers. Shuri's been monitoring him with some kind of 'bots in the air vents, but he hasn't eaten or drunk and he's not responding to anybody. He's breathing and blinking, and that's as good as it gets.” 

Peggy nodded and pushed loose hair out of her face, feeling oddly relieved. “Right. I understand. That's … not a surprise, actually.” 

One copper eyebrow arched. 

Peggy shrugged sheepishly. “Last time, he tried to drink a pub.”

***

The suite of rooms was on the outskirts of the palace, with lush jungle close enough for Peggy to hear birdcalls from the corridor. Ayo led the two other women to the door, then turned deliberately to stand beside it, back to the wall, spear straight.

“You coming in?” Peggy asked, and wasn't surprised when Natasha shook her head. 

“He doesn't want to see me,” she said simply. 

The door hissed open, and Peggy stepped into the dark alone.

The bird sounds were louder in here, she realized as the door shut behind her. The air stirred, and she followed the breeze across the carpet to faintly shifting blackout curtains covering a tall window. 

“ _So_ dramatic,” she murmured, and shoved the curtains open. 

She had been expecting a mess, something like the shattered chaos of the bombed-out pub. Steve had always been one for visually representing his emotions, and he wasn't above using his surroundings to do so. 

The tidiness of the room was, in its own way, worse. 

There was nothing out of place in the spartan living room. The furniture was perfectly arranged, the hard surfaces of the coffee table and low shelving unit free of dust. There wasn't so much as a carpet fiber out of alignment, except for the slight marks of Peggy's feet where she'd crossed to the window … 

… and another set of footmarks heading for the bedroom. 

_Right._

The bedroom door was open, the bedroom just as dark as the sitting room had been, but the shaft of light from the freshly opened window was enough to see by. The bedroom carpet was free of clutter, and there was a muscular ball of misery on the bed. 

Peggy'd had six years to think about what she'd do if she ever saw Steve like this again. She didn't hesitate. 

She walked into the bedroom and crawled onto the bed, boots and all. She lay down facing the ball of Steve, where he only had to open his eyes to see her face. Then she reached out and stroked his hair, running her fingers down his sideburns to rub a little at his coppery beard. 

“Steve?” she said softly. “Darling, I'm home.” 

It took a moment for his eyes to open, a minute or so for the look in them to come back from whatever faraway place he'd been occupying in his mind. She saw his face change when he really saw her for the first time, his eyes widening and his mouth falling slightly open. He reached out for her face as she held his. His fingers stopped a hairsbreadth from her cheek, then made contact. She held perfectly still as he traced the line of her jaw. 

“Peggy?” he asked. His voice was rough from disuse. 

“Yes, darling,” she replied. “I'm here.”

His face crumpled. “Oh—oh—”

She put her free arm around his shoulders and pulled herself into him, tucking his face into her neck as he began to weep. She held him as he shook, rocked him as he broke apart.

“Oh, thank God,” he sobbed after several minutes of soaking her shirt with his misery. 

“I'm here,” she repeated, stroking his hair. 

“Thank _God_ ,” he said again, cupping the back of her head in one of his giant hands. “I—I can't believe it.” 

“It's rather a long story,” she admitted. 

“I don't care,” he rasped. “I'm just glad I'm finally dead.” 

Peggy opened her mouth. Then she closed it. 

She went on holding him through the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve is GOING TO BE OKAY, all right? He's just not coping right now! But he's got some of his emotional support humans and they'll get the rest back for him. 
> 
> *crazy eyes* PATIENCE.

**Author's Note:**

> Steve's line is stolen from Astonishing X-Men because fuck you, Joss Whedon, you don't get to have nice things. 
> 
> Come be my friend on the social medes. I'm onethingconstant on Instagram and OnBearFeet on Twitter. 
> 
> Also, I am now half of a podcast! We are Dorks & Discourse and we are on Anchor FM. Come find us. We yell a lot and drink a ridiculous amount of tea. Our audio quality should improve with the next episode now that we're no longer sharing a microphone.


End file.
